


Timeless

by MsImpala67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sort Of, Time Travel, season 1!Sam, season 13!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 08:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13290801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsImpala67/pseuds/MsImpala67
Summary: Sam sends Dean to the past for unknown reasons. When Dean is faced with a twenty-two year old Sam who has no idea what they'll become, Dean figures those reasons out.





	Timeless

The motel room looks just like any other, and Dean wouldn’t even be sure that the spell worked, except for the fact that he’s not in the bunker anymore.  _ Something _ happened.

First things first, though. With a trained eye, he takes in his immediate surroundings. Nothing is coming at him, so he relaxes his muscles and checks himself, makes sure all of his parts came with him on the trip. 

Good. He’s whole.

Then he looks around for the non-lethal stuff that will give him any kind of clue about what he’s doing here.

There’s nothing but a couple of duffel bags, beds still made and television off like  _ they’ve _ only just arrived. But where are they?

The sound of the shower registers. He checks the nightstand for car keys and finds none. So this version of Sam is showering, and the younger (hopefully, if he made it to the right place) version of  _ himself _ is out. Probably for the whole night, if he remembers himself correctly. 

Well, that might make things a little easier. Sam’s the reasonable one who might actually listen first and not just start shooting. Dean probably shouldn’t risk getting into a fight with himself. 

He sits down and waits for Sam, as patiently as he can, and he does remarkably well with sitting still, given how he’s never been remotely patient about anything. Maybe he’s nervous, and doesn’t mind the extra time to prepare himself. 

The shower turns off and the door opens.

Dean couldn’t have really prepared himself for this no matter how long Sam had stayed in the bathroom. 

Sam comes out, towel slung low around his waist, slimmer than Dean knows it now, hip bones jutting out as he uses a second towel to dry his hair. He rubs hard, then shakes his head like a dog, and floppy hair goes flying, settling straight down into his eyes in a way Dean hasn’t seen in over a decade. 

He’s fucking perfect. 

It hits Dean everywhere, his mind, his heart, his cock, his  _ very soul _ all swell and burst at the sight of Sam at twenty-two, cheeks flushed, body long and lanky, nostrils flaring because Sam is so angry every second of the day, even when he isn’t. In the two seconds Dean gets to stare at him, Sam is his innocent little Sammy all over again, chest smooth where there are scars now, shoulders slumped with the weight of Jess and their missing father. 

Sam barely glances at him as he heads to his duffel bag. “Didn’t think you’d be back tonight.”

“Sam.”

Dean knows Sam can hear the difference in his voice. The years and the whiskey have lowered it, and it scrapes across the room in a way  _ this  _ Sam has never heard. His head whips around and his eyes narrow, whole body tensing and Dean can  _ feel _ him wishing he had a weapon in his hand. 

“You aren’t Dean.”

Dean doesn’t make a move to stand up, but he does raise his bare, unarmed hands. “No. I mean, yeah, I am. But not...it’s complicated.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m from the future.”

Sam doesn’t react to that except to plant his bare feet deeper into the dirty carpet, readying himself for a fight. His eyes dart to his gun on the nightstand.

“Seriously, Sammy” Dean continues. “I’m not a shifter. I know you have a silver knife. Test me.”

Sam is so graceful, and Dean watches hungrily as Sam gets his knife and walks over carefully, never taking his eyes away for a second in case Dean moves. 

Dean holds out his palm in offering, and Sam cuts it, just a tiny, shallow cut that barely stings, and it’s enough to prove the point. 

“So you aren’t a shifter. Doesn’t mean you’re him.”

Dean stands, and Sam jumps back, clutching his towel and glaring warily. Their eyes meet, and Dean can feel when Sam’s resolve wavers, when he starts to question it. 

“Ask me anything,” Dean says, hoping it will be enough. 

Sam pauses for a minute, then grabs the closest pair of sweatpants and hastily puts them on, still staring at Dean the whole time like he’s daring him to make a move. Dean tries to hide his smirk, carefully doesn’t look for the few seconds that Sam’s towel is dropped. “For your twelfth birthday, we-”

“Went ice skating with Bobby,” Dean answers without hesitation. “You busted your lip and I got mad because we had to leave and sew you up.”

Sam’s face softens. “And my favorite book when I was little was-”

“Lord of the Rings.”

“And the last fight you and I had was about…”

Dean rolls his eyes. “How the hell should I know? Everything you do is annoying.”

Sam holds back a grin, and Dean knows he believes him now. 

“So...you’re really him? From the future?”

“2017.” God, this is trippy. Dean could never forget this version of Sam, has every laugh and every blush on those smooth cheeks memorized, but it’s all memories now. He isn’t ready to be standing here with it right in front of him. His cock, however, is reacting like a Pavlovian response, and he’s half-hard just looking at the thin, sleek lines of Sam’s chest.

“Why are you here?”

Dean finds his first genuine smile, full and soft. “I don’t actually know. You- uh, the Sam from the future, didn’t tell me.”   
“What?”

“You wanna sit or something?”

Sam shakes his head. “I want to know why you’re here. I- _ I  _ sent you back? I guess that means we both live longer than we expected.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, about that. It’s...complicated. But we’re both still kicking. And no, you didn’t tell me why I needed to come back. Just that it was important for you to see me tonight. And that I’m not allowed to tell you anything else.”

“You’re fucking kidding.” Sam snorts. It’s so familiar, so annoyed, that Dean has to stop himself from reaching out and touching him.

“I’m sure you can figure it out, Sammy. Actually, I assumed when I got here you’d already know. Seemed like something you would do.”

Sam gapes at him for a moment, and it would be funny if Dean wasn’t starting to get a little worried. If he’s really supposed to accomplish something here, and neither he nor Past Sam know what it is, that’s a problem. 

“Well, what’s going on? What are you fighting right now that I could help with?” Sam barely gets the question out before Dean’s shaking his head. He remembers Sam’s words-  _ his _ Sam, right before he sent him. 

_ You can’t tell him anything. It’ll mess up everything. Just trust me. _

“I can’t tell you. It might fuck up the future.”

“You can’t tell me? You show up from the future, without a clue what you’re supposed to do once you’re here, and you can’t tell me anything that might help me figure it out.” 

Dean nods. 

“And you actually let me...I mean, _ future _ me, do that? You trusted me enough to come back here with no explanation? Just because I said so? That doesn’t sound like Dean.”

Dean only looks at him, trying very hard not to give anything away but knowing that he’s not looking at this Sammy like a brother should. He can’t, not when he’s thinking about all the things he does now without needing explanation. All the things they  _ both _ do.

 “I trust you, Sam,” he says carefully. “Always have. Just...took me a while to trust  _ myself  _ trusting you, if that makes any sense.”

Sam’s eyes narrow and his lips curl in a laugh that’s more scoffing than actually laughing. “Great. So what do we do now?”

“What are  _ you _ fighting? What can I help  _ you _ with?”

Sam finally sits down on one of the beds, but his back is rigid, body still alert and ready. “Nothing. We’re in between jobs right now. Unless you’re here to tell us where Dad is.”

Dean shakes his head no and sits down on the other bed, resists the urge to stretch his legs out to tangle with Sam’s across the small space. “I guess I’m out for the night. Younger me, I mean.”

Sam nods, and Dean can see the jealous flash in those fox eyes, can see the desperation there that he managed to miss for most of his life. 

Jesus, the things he wants to tell him, the things he wants to show him. Dean has a chance to really look at Sam’s body, so tan and slim and taught, wound so tight that Dean knows he could make him come in under a minute. 

Dean  _ misses _ him, misses this version of Sam, the one that would snarl at him even as he dropped to his knees. But he isn’t allowed to say any of that. 

Doesn’t matter though, because Sam beats him to it. “Can I ask you one thing? Not about hunting or anything like that?”

Dean shrugs. “I may not answer. But sure.”

Sam opens his mouth, closes it again, and exhales loudly through his nose. Dean can practically feel his jaw clenching. 

“Spit it out, Sammy.”   
There’s that flash in Sam’s eyes again, and Dean wonders how he ever overlooked it. “I just wanted to know…” 

He can’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. Dean knows exactly what he wants to say.

Sam, the present-day Sam, would be fucking pissed if he knew how close Dean was to telling past Sam everything. It takes all the willpower he has to keep his mouth shut, jaw firmly clenched against all the comfort and relief he could give with just a few words. 

He does, however, allow himself to nod.

_ Yes, Sammy. It was always you and me together. Always. _

Sam’s eyes go wide and he looks so much like a puppy it makes Dean ache.

“When?” Sam’s voice is so quiet Dean would have missed it if he hadn’t already been looking at his lips.  

Fuck it.

“About a year from now, I think.”

Sam reacts, but Dean misses it as he looks away to let himself remember  _ that _ night. Sam had practically attacked him, wild and feral, hands and lips almost vibrating as they grabbed at Dean. Dean had been more than ready at that point.

_ That’s it.  _

Dean would never have been ready if Sam hadn’t spent almost a year unintentionally getting him ready- flirting, little comments here and there, accidentally dropping hints. But now it’s all clear in Dean’s mind. It wasn’t unintentional. 

Sam sent him back so that he could teach his little brother how to seduce him.

Jesus Christ, their life is fucked up. And Dean loves Sam so fucking much that he doesn’t even think it’s strange, because if it was the other way around, he’d do the  _ exact  _ same fucking thing. Whatever it took to get them together, to get them where they are now.

“Sammy, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That it’s gonna take me longer than it should to give in.”

“I’ve waited this long. I can handle another year.” If Dean hadn’t spent his whole life looking at it, learning it’s subtleties, he’d believe Sam’s brave face. 

“You can,” Dean smiles. “And I’m gonna help you.”

“What?”

“I think that’s why I’m here. I remember how all of this happened, and I think you sent me back to help you get it started.”

To Dean’s surprise, tears fill Sam’s eyes. Dean can’t tell if they’re from anger or sadness, or maybe both. “It’s because we’re brothers, isn’t it? You think I’m disgusting. And I have to wear you down.”

Dean’s on his knees in front of Sam before he means to move, because making sure Sam’s okay is more of an instinct to him that eating or breathing. “No, Sam.” 

He reaches out only to pause and pull his hands back, not sure he’s allowed to touch. 

“Sam, look at me. You aren’t disgusting. There’s nothing about you that isn’t- that isn’t  _ perfect _ . It’s gonna take me some time, but not because of that.”

“Then why?”

“Because.” Dean isn’t sure how to explain it. Isn’t sure he wants to. But this is why he’s here, he’s sure of that now. “Because I loved you too much. Still do. It scared the hell out of me. I figured you’d realize I didn’t deserve you, or one of us would get killed, and if I- you know…let myself love you like that, it’d destroy me. But I always loved you, Sam. Always.”

Sam gives him the look that makes Dean want to hide, because Sam can see right through him, can see all his insecurities and all his flaws. It’s soft and understanding and makes a huge lump form in Dean’s throat. “So what did I do to help you get over that?”

Dean leans back to sit on his heels, and with a deep breath, he starts talking. He tells Sam everything without telling him anything. He doesn’t want to give away every detail, wants  _ Sam’s _ brain to be the one to come up with all the little moments that brought them to the night it finally happened. 

But he tells him enough, unable to stop his lips from turning up into a smile as he remembers all of it. He tells Sam how to dangle the carrot, how to challenge him and not let him pull away like he’ll want to, how to let Dean know he’s ready without pushing it. Sam listens intently, not asking questions because he knows Dean won’t answer them, but Dean can see the lightbulbs turning on in his brain. 

“I guess that’s it,” Dean says a few hours later, sitting flat on the floor between the beds now, legs sprawled out in front of him. 

Sam sits silently, and Dean listens to the rattling air conditioner, counts the minutes passing on the alarm clock. 

“I guess you have to go back now?”

“Yeah. I’ve got some magic words to say and that’s it. Sam’s waiting on me.”

Again, they sit in silence, neither of them moving a muscle.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I...uh. Would it be okay if I just.”

“What, Sammy? Use your words,” Dean gently teases.

Sam’s face changes to an expression Dean’s seen many times, and it cuts right through him, sears through his chest and leaves it aching. It’s desperate and greedy, full of both impossible heat and that begging innocence Dean can never say no to. “Let me touch you. Just once.”

Dean can’t breathe. “You will. You’ll get to touch me all you want, Sammy.”

“Now. Let me touch you  _ now _ , Dean.  _ Please _ .”

There are tears in Sam’s eyes again, whole body trembling, and Dean knows he shouldn’t. He also knows  _ shouldn’t  _ doesn’t mean shit when it comes to Sam. 

He gets back up to his knees again and crawls forward. Just one little kiss. Something for Sam to hold onto for the next year, and a way for Dean to touch his little Sammy one last time. 

Dean should know one little kiss is a terrible idea.

He leans forward and makes sure to keep his hands to himself, only letting their lips touch. Sam sucks in a breath and whimpers a little, goes rigid like he’s trying not to lose it. Dean pushes closer, lets himself feel the heat of Sam, the soft of his young lips.

The second he moves, Sam’s all over him, arms wrapped around his neck, hands twisting in his short hair to pull him closer, kissing him until it hurts. His tongue slides out, pushes its way into Dean’s mouth and fucking plants a flag there, insistent like it’s been waiting to do this forever. Dean can’t do anything but kiss back, their noses smashed together as their lips and tongues move. 

They’re both panting when Dean forces himself to pull back. 

“Sammy…”

“God, Dean.” Sam’s scrambling down to the floor, practically climbing into Dean’s lap to kiss him again, to suck at his lips. Dean lets him. It feels too good to stop him. Dean isn’t ready to leave just yet, not when he has this skinny little piece of perfection brushing its hair across his face. Sam works down to Dean’s neck, hands pressed flat against his chest as he sucks at his pulse.

“Wanted to do this forever,” he murmurs. “You taste as good as I thought you would.”

Dean groans and thinks about how he should push him away, but he knows he isn’t going to.

“Sam?” He pulls his head back and makes Sam meet his eyes.

“What?”

“Do you want me to stay a little longer? Think about it before you answer.”

Dean isn’t sure if he’s happy or not about the fact that Sam actually does stand up and think about it. Dean pulls himself up and watches, memorizing that face and it’s lack of wear and tear all over again in case Sam tells him to go. 

“Stay. Please.”

“You’re sure?”

“Always sure about you, Dean. I wanna know what it feels like.”

“Get on the bed,” Dean tells him through gritted teeth. 

Sam almost jumps on the mattress, sprawls out, face tilted up and so open. Willing. 

Dean closes his eyes and tries not to come in his jeans right then. He steps forward and leans down, runs his hands up Sam’s sides, slim and smooth and as warm as Sam always is. 

Sam arches up, hissing like Dean’s burning him, eyes squeezing shut like it’s so good it hurts. Dean knows the feeling. He touches everywhere, traces his collarbone and his abs, scrapes lines over his ribs, slides his thumbs over Sam’s nipples. He already knows how Sam will react when he pinches them, but it still feels like the first time when he moans, nipples swelling between Dean’s fingers.

“Dean…” 

Sam’s not begging, not asking for anything. He’s saying it just to say it. Because he’s never been allowed to say Dean’s name like this before. 

“I know, Sammy. I know.”   
He kisses him again before pulling away to shrug out of his jacket, then his flannel shirt, then his t-shirt. Sam watches every move with hungry eyes, following his fingers down each button, drinking in Dean’s bare chest like he’s never seen it before. 

He reaches out to touch, and Dean tenses his muscles against the sweet pleasure of Sam tracing new scars he’s never seen before. Dean swallows hard and steps back. 

“Wait. If we’re gonna do this, let’s do this right.”

He drags his feet out of his boots, unbuttons his jeans, and Sam gets the message, hastily pushes his sweatpants off. Dean climbs onto the bed naked, but he doesn’t touch Sam. Instead, he lies on his back and grins over at Sam. 

“You want to know what it feels like? Go ahead. Touch me.” 

Sam huffs through his nose and lights up like it’s Christmas, and Dean grunts when Sam flops on top of him, pinning Dean to the bed with his full weight. He kisses his way down Dean’s throat, takes his time licking and sucking over Dean’s chest, mouth wet and greedy, teeth marking where he’s been. Dean remembers this, too. Sam was always so possessive, wouldn’t let Dean out of his sight, wanted to mark him up, wanted Dean to be _ claimed _ .

It takes too long for Sam to work his way down, but Dean tries to be patient. This is Sam’s first time with him, after all. He hasn’t had the decade of this that Dean has, and he deserves a little time to explore. 

“Can I?” he asks, just inches away from Dean’s aching cock. 

“Yeah, Sammy.”

His hands clench into fists at the first touch of Sam’s lips to that flesh. Sam is still a little awkward, doesn’t find a rhythm and doesn’t hit any of the sensitive spots he goes straight for now. But  _ fuck _ , it’s perfect, tight suction and Sam humming around him like he’s in heaven, vibrating all through him and reminding him of what this used to be, of dirty skin and morning breath and the two of them clinging to each other in cold motel rooms, blissfully unaware of the world falling apart around them. 

“Gonna make you come,” Sam mumbles, mouth full of cock. “Always wanted to.”

“Yeah?” Dean knows all of this, but he wants to hear it anyway.

Sam pulls away with a wet pop, his fingers wrapping around Dean and stroking slowly. He looks like sin right now, strung out and wound up as he grins. “I’ve heard you come before. Listened a couple of times at the bathroom door. I know how you grunt like you’re biting your lip. Know how you like it hard right when you start to come. But I wanna see it. And I don’t want you to bite your lip. You don’t have to be quiet now.”

“Shit, Sammy.  _ My _ Sam is gonna be pissed if you kill me before I get home.”

Sam only grins wider, then leans back down, finally figures out how to bob his head in a way that makes Dean go silent as he works at not thrusting his hips up. 

Just as the pressure starts to build, Dean stops him. “Wait, Sammy. Don’t make me come yet. Come up here.”

Sam pulls away, lips swollen and red as he climbs up to straddle Dean, so open and eager that it almost hurts for Dean to look at him. He runs his hands up Sam’s thighs, watching as Sam leans forward a little, wanting more. 

“God, I missed you,” Dean breathes.

“You still have me, don’t you?”

“Yes, but you aren’t like this anymore.”

Sam frowns. “What am I like?”

“Don’t worry, you’re still perfect,” Dean grins. “Just. You’ve been through some shit. You’re harder. And actually, you’re a little calmer. A little more Zen. But I more meant how you are when we do this.”

Dean rubs up Sam’s thighs again, looking up at that sweet face and watching Sam’s lips part in a silent gasp when Dean keeps his hands going until the edges of his fingers brush Sam’s cock. 

“What, do we act like an old married couple in the future?”

Dean can hear the longing in those words behind the teasing, knows that Sam would be thrilled for him to say  _ yeah, Sammy, we snuggle a lot. _

“We’ve just done this before. A lot. Like, all the time. As mind-blowing as it always is, I miss when you were still a little breathless just from the little stuff.”

Sam nods, understanding, and rolls his hips a little. “I’ll make you a promise. When I get to the future and I send you back here, I’ll make sure to be breathless and waiting for you when you get back.”

Dean grins, lets Sam link the fingers of one hand through his. With his free one, he reaches down and strokes, keeping his hand slow and firm, letting it drag up Sam’s cock so they both feel every little sensation of it.

“Dean,” Sam groans, tossing his head back. “Want you to fuck me.”

Dean shakes his head, reaching up to rub his thumb over Sam’s instantly pouty lips. “Not yet. Want you to save that for  _ him _ . We both deserve that.”

Sam sniffs and nods, cock twitching despite his regret. 

“C’mere.” Dean tugs Sam down and kisses him, just can’t get enough of that mouth. Sam rolls his hips again, rubbing their cocks together. Dean moans into the kiss. “That’s it, Sammy. Ride me and get us both off.”

Sam digs his hips in then, starts thrusting and humping like he’s getting paid to do it, spitting on his hand and slicking them both up to ease the way. Dean watches his baby brother, the arch and curve of him, lets his hands explore wherever they can reach. 

Sam moans and sighs and whimpers, grabs Dean’s hand, grabs his hair, kisses him, pulls and tugs at him, frantically trying to do everything Dean will let him like he’s on a time schedule, like he might wake up any second and he wants to get as far as he can before that happens. 

Dean waits for the signs, for Sam’s voice to go a little higher, for his cock to flush just the right deep rose color, for his stomach to start fluttering as his muscles clench. 

Some things never change, and Dean knows when Sam’s seconds away from coming. He pulls him, yanks Sam’s whole body up his chest so that he can get his mouth on Sam’s cock and pull his orgasm out of him. He tastes exactly the same, and Dean doesn’t think twice about flicking his tongue the way Sam likes and drinking him down the way he always does. Sam practically falls against the headboard, crying out Dean’s name as he shakes so violently it rattles the bed. 

Dean waits patiently for him to recover, stroking his back, his ass, his thighs, until Sam can move back down Dean’s body and wrap his hand around Dean.

“Do you want my hand or my mouth or both?”

“Both,” Dean answers. “Whatever you want.”

Sam slides his hand down to Dean’s balls and swallows his cock, stopping only when Dean bumps the back of his throat. It only takes one good suck to send Dean over the edge, and he grabs Sam’s hair, holds him still while he pulses down his throat, something he’s so used to doing he forgets that it’s new for  _ this _ Sam. 

Sam pulls away with happy tears in his eyes, muscles loose like he’s been holding something in forever and he’s finally free, light and weightless as he floats down to snuggle into Dean’s waiting arms. 

They lie there, Sam’s head on Dean’s chest, until Dean realizes that the younger version of himself will probably be back soon, and he needs to be long gone by then. 

“I need to go,” he whispers, brushing his fingers through Sam’s hair. 

Sam swallows hard and nods. Dean gets up and starts to dress, Sam’s eyes on him the whole time. He can feel all the questions Sam wants to ask, all the reassurances he wants Dean to give, but he doesn’t say anything. Dean’s grateful. He doesn’t want to disappoint him by telling him no, he can’t tell him anything. 

When there’s nothing left to do but say the words Sam taught him, he leans down to get one more taste of his Sammy, and this time he isn’t sure which one of them the whimper comes from. 

“Thank you,” Sam whispers.

“Thank yourself for sending me back.”

Sam grins. “I’ll see you in thirteen years.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Sam keeps staring at him while he says the spell, smiling hopefully now that he has something to look forward to.

The map room of the bunker is empty when Dean opens his eyes and waits for the head rush to pass. When he’s steady on his feet, he smiles and heads back to their room. 

His Sammy might be older now, but there’s still an echo of that twenty-two year old kid in him, and Dean knows he’ll keep his promise. He’ll be waiting and breathless when Dean opens the bedroom door.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is my lifeblood! XOXO


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